Rory and River are holding her back, of that she's vaguely aware. Something in the back of her mind tells her this is just as difficult, just as horrifying for them.
But another part insists that it's not. And besides, whatever twisted past the Doctor and River have it's not hers remember or feel - her own journey is hard enough to contain as it is. And right now all she can know is he's her Doctor, her raggedy Doctor.
He can't be gone.
When they finally release her, the sand burns against her legs, her hands, as she launches herself to the ground beside him. He's too still, impossibly still. This man - creature, alien, her mind prompts - that never seems to stop spinning about and doing ridiculous things with his gangly limbs is still.
It's too much for her.
Tears blur her vision. Her hands curl into the lapels of his jacket. Swollen lips plead with him just don't be dead.
In that moment, it occurs to her: It doesn't matter that there's no blood. She'll feel this, the stillness as dirty as any red-staining blood could be, on her hands for the rest of her life.